


Prospective Perspective

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Derek Hale & Laura Hale Are Twins, M/M, Meet-Cute, Minor Isaac Lahey/Laura Hale, Minor Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 12:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6611176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's looking forward to a twin-free weekend while Laura entertains a prospective student. Then it turns out that Admissions saw a traditionally female name and ignored the ticky box that says "male", and now Derek's the one with the prospective in his room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prospective Perspective

**Author's Note:**

> My daughter will be going to college in the fall, and I work at one, and I have a lot of AU ideas so expect to see a few coming. I've had this head canon for a long time that maybe Stiles's name isn't unpronounceable; it's simply something very non-traditional. And of course, all the dangers of making assumption about gender based on a name! We've had a lot of prospective visits, and my daughter has been acquainted with the rules at different schools, and that sparked this story.

It’s Friday. Which means all Derek has to do is get through Sociology 101 and he’ll be free. He doesn’t have any projects, he’s already done all his homework unless there’s more assigned in class (probably not), and his sister’s going to be busy with her prospective student thus leaving him free of twin drama.

And oh how he hopes that her prospective is the kind of person to give _her_ a little drama for once.

He enters at the top of the lecture hall, looks down to the rows in the middle where Laura likes to sit, and tries to decide if he wants to interrupt where she’s leaning in to talk to a lanky someone with close-cropped brown hair. This is bonding time, right? Laura’s got a prospective in tow and they’re taking a class, and this is going to be that student’s first impression of BHU. It’s important that Laura not be disturbed.

Derek’s about to sit down in the back row, safely well behind and several seats to the left of Laura, when he hears an ear-shattering whistle.

A very familiar fucking whistle.

“Derek!” Laura calls out, standing and waving.

“I am not a dog,” he grumbles as he pushes out of the row of seats and heads towards her. “I do not come when you whistle for me.”

Which is a lie. Laura is the alpha twin, and they have both known that since birth.

“Miss Hale, Mr. Hale, if you could please be seated?” Dr. Deaton’s voice is calm as Laura grips Derek’s wrist and yanks until he stumbles into the row of seats, past Laura and pushing his way over the legs next to her to fall into the seat just beyond. The yellow plastic is unyielding, and he bites back a grunt as he glares at his sister, and Dr. Deaton smiles mildly at the front of the class. “Thank you,” Dr. Deaton says. “Now, if you’ll recall, yesterday we were discussing—”

“Hi.” There’s a hand in front of Derek’s face, between him and the notebook that he’s just gotten placed on the tiny arm-desk attached to his seat. “I’m Stiles.”

“Derek,” he grunts, pushing the hand away. Dr. Deaton’s already warming to his lecture topic and Derek doesn’t want to miss getting the notes. He’s not here to flirt with Laura’s prospective. “Class now. Talk later.”

There’s a tap on Derek’s shoulder, and he refuses to look up. “No,” he says.

“We really do need to talk later, Derek,” Laura says, her voice more serious than he expects. “It’s important.” When he doesn’t respond, she flicks his shoulder again. “It’s _really_ important.”

“Can you just wait until we’re done with class?” Derek slams the pen down, glares at Laura as he looks past the boy sitting between them.

Wait.

The _boy_ sitting between them.

Laura smiles slightly. “I think you see my problem. Derek, this is Marion Pawel Stilinski.”

“Call me Stiles.” The boy winks at Derek, amber eyes crinkling at the corners. “Apparently someone at Admissions only saw my first name and neglected to look at the ticky box that says _male_.”

“Apparently.” Derek isn’t sure what else to say, isn’t sure how to process the fact that his sister’s prospective student isn’t exactly who she expected it would be.

“And there are rules about boys on our floor,” Laura adds.

Which Derek knows, given that there are rules about girls on his floor. It’s a single-gender freshman dorm thing. There are other dorms which are co-ed by room, but not theirs. So rules.

“Mister and Miss Hale!” Dr. Deaton raises his voice and the room goes silent.

Derek shrinks back into his seat, sliding down, pen back in hand and over the notebook.

Deaton smiles slightly. “Thank you.”

It doesn’t matter whether Derek’s paying attention or not, all he can really think about is the fact that he’s probably stuck with an unknown guest for the night. And Derek really, _really_ hates people.

#

“So, since it’s Friday, I was figuring that we’d get dinner at Lambert—it has the best options of any of the dining halls available to freshman—then we’ll go out, let you see what it’s like to live on campus.” Laura walks backwards like a tour guide, Derek and Stiles trailing along in her wake. “I know of three different parties—one’s definitely dry, but I know Isaac’s, at least, will have alcohol. Unless you don’t drink?” One hand rises in question.

“Isaac?” Stiles asks.

“Friend,” Laura replies, although Derek sees the tips of her ears go pink the way they always do when she refuses to admit to a new relationship.

“Someone you knew before?” Stiles asks. “Because I did research on the percentage of high school relationships that survive the transition to college, accounting for variables like attending the same school or different schools, and the distances involved. I did it for Scotty—my best friend and brother from another mother—but after twenty pages of analysis, I figured it could also be my term paper for Psychology last year. Apparently my teacher thought I went overboard. It was nothing compared to the paper on the history of circumcision.”

Derek refuses to be impressed by someone so willing to put that much effort into research for a friend.

“We met here,” Laura admits, the flush staining her cheeks now. “It’s not really a thing.”

“It’s a thing,” Derek says, because he’s been paying attention to his sister’s love life.

“Do you drink?” Laura shifts the conversation back abruptly to Stiles, and Derek just enjoys the fact that for once, his twin is the one being made uncomfortable by someone else.

“I drink. Illegally, yes, just like you since we’re all under twenty-one. And my father has yet to kill me over it, which is impressive considering he’s the Sheriff.” Stiles flashes a quick grin. “The rule is, I don’t get caught while he pretends I’m not breaking the law, and everything’s fine.”

“Do you break the law often?” It’s not that Derek’s interested. Curious, maybe, wondering what else Stiles researches other than the lasting potential of high school relationships and the history of circumcision.

“Of course not,” Stiles says quickly, his head tilting slightly and gaze skittering off to one side. “Well, a little. I have to figure out what’s going on somehow, so I might listen to the scanner a little. And there was this one time that Scott and I decided to go into the woods because I heard there was a dead body….” He stops abruptly, flashes a bright, quick grin at Derek. “Nope, no law breaking other than the drinking. I’m an absolute angel.”

Derek doesn’t believe that, not at all. What’s strange is that Derek’s still curious, still wants to know what other trouble Stiles has gotten into. Or maybe he would, if Derek actually liked people.

Laura’s flush has faded, and she hooks one arm through Stiles’s elbow. “Good, then no drinking until you puke, no open alcohol where Public Safety can see you, and you stick with either me or Derek at all times.” Laura lays out the rules, and Stiles nods emphatically to each one.

“Wait.” Derek pushes forward, getting between them. “I’m not going out with you.” He might be curious, but he doesn’t want to go _out_. He’s already stuck with Stiles in his room all night.

Laura’s eyes are wide, a soft grass green that might almost look innocent if Derek didn’t know that she’s the devil personified. “But Derek, Stiles is staying with you tonight. You should get to know him. It’s not like you’re just a hotel room. We’re hosting him. Showing him what the freshman year experience at BHU is like. You can’t just abandon him.”

“I’m not the one who didn’t bother to contact my prospective and find out that Admissions fucked up and we were mismatched in the first place!” Derek grumbles. “This is your responsibility, Laura.”

“And you are helping me out when I’m caught in a bind,” she counters. “Like a good twin does. Remember, I _did_ host Cora when she decided to visit three times this semester. And because she was able to visit on her own, our parents didn’t show up. Which means you have had an entire first semester without any intrusive questions about your major, your lack of a love life, and your future. For which you are welcome, and you owe me.”

“Which is worse, your parents or Cora?” Stiles asks, his brow furrowed.

“Both,” Derek and Laura chorus, because there is no doubt. Derek doesn’t want to deal with his parents and their endless questions. He knows they just want him to be happy but at the same time, he’s never happy when he’s being grilled about his lack of plans for the future. He’s still got time; he doesn’t need to know anything more than what he’s doing tomorrow at this point.

On the other hand, if Laura is the devil, Cora is every single one of her evil handmaidens. At once. Or the equivalent of an entire fleet of evil flying monkeys. It’s a tossup, but the point is, Cora makes Laura look like the good daughter.

Derek finds it truly disturbing that he’s the closest thing to an angel that the Hale family has, and he knows how much trouble he can be when he puts his mind to it. His sisters just happen to be worse.

“So it’s settled. Dinner at Lambert, then we’ll walk back to mine so I can get changed, and we’ll pick up Stiles’s things and take them to Derek’s room. Is Boyd around this weekend?” The way Laura tilts her head makes Derek think she already knows the answer.

Because of course Boyd’s not around. Derek actually likes his roommate, and one of the things he likes best is that Boyd hooked up with Erica during orientation, and Erica lives at home, which means Boyd spends a significant amount of time in the tiny flat Erica shares with her sister five minutes away from campus.

“We’ll change the sheets. Stiles can use Boyd’s bed,” Derek mutters.

“See, everything’s working out like this is how it was meant to be.” Laura hooks her arm through Stiles’s, leaning in to bump his hip. “Makes you think maybe Admissions didn’t make a mistake after all, doesn’t it? I just love it when things go right.”

This is not right. This is wrong. Because one of the things Derek values most is his privacy, and having Boyd as an absentee roommate gives him that privacy.

Being stuck with Stiles is not going to be good.

#

Being dragged out to a party is even worse than being stuck hosting a prospective student.

It’s not that Derek’s never been to a party. He’s been to several of them, most in the first two weeks of the semester, when Laura was determined to experience everything college life had to offer, and Derek wasn’t sure she should be experiencing it alone. Not to mention that Laura refused to let him hide in his room like some kind of moldy fungus (her terms, he preferred to think of it as practical and getting his homework done rather than getting plastered).

He just doesn’t like them. He doesn’t like the noise, he doesn’t need the alcohol. He’s never been fond of the way girls take one look at his build and face and seem determined to climb him like a tree. He doesn’t dance, and it’s not like you can have a conversation with the music thumping and everyone trying to yell over it.

The thing is, the moment they arrive at Isaac’s frat house, Laura yells, “Watch out for Stiles,” and then promptly disappears into the crowd. Derek spots her once, draining the last drops of some fruity pink drink before she is swallowed by the crowd around the bar.

Stiles, on the other hand, he manages to keep in sight.

Stiles has a drink in one hand, raised high enough to keep it from bumping into anyone on the floor as he dances. His free hand moves erratically, but his hips are fluid, undulating to the beat. He dances with both girls and guys, and doesn’t seem to care as long as they’re interested in keeping moving.

It’s uncomfortable to watch.

“Don’t usually see you here.”

Derek almost misses the words, but he feels the thump of Boyd’s shoulder against his on one side just before Erica wraps around him from the other side. She slides in close, kisses his cheek. “You look bored!” she shouts in his ear. “How can you be bored? The music is decent, and they’ve got alcohol that doesn’t taste alcoholic.”

“You’re drunk,” he shouts back, and Erica just laughs.

“Damn right I am!”

He’s never understood that need to lose control. The idea of being drunk doesn’t relax him; that isn’t how he wants to celebrate the weekend. It leaves him tense, knowing he would have to give himself over to the alcohol to let go.

Derek got drunk at the first party he went to at BHU. He woke up in the gardens, curled on a bench under a tree, his shoes on without socks and his shirt only half-buttoned. He has vague memories of walking out on someone who wanted to make out, of her yelling at him as he left, but that was it. He knows he didn’t do anything bad or wrong, but he doesn’t like the part where he can’t be certain exactly what he _did_ do, either.

It’s not an experience he wants to repeat.

Boyd makes a low sound, and Derek interprets it as a question. “Prospective,” he tells them. “He’s going to be borrowing your bed tonight.”

Boyd makes a sound of assent, and Erica leans away from Derek, peering at the crowd. “Fresh blood?” she asks. “Where is he? I thought Laura had a prospective, too? Did she bring her?”

“Turns out Marion Stilinski is a guy,” Derek says dryly. He spots Stiles—now dancing between both Isaac and Laura—and raises his eyebrows.

“He’s cute,” Erica murmurs, plastered as close as she can get to him, the words for Derek’s ears alone. His ears heat up, pink at the tips he’s sure, because the thing is… Erica’s not wrong.

And that’s probably the absolute worst part of this. Not only is Stiles weirdly intriguing, he’s cute.

“Have a drink.” Erica nudges him with her hip. “Loosen up, dance a little, have fun. Then take him home and tuck him in with plenty of water.”

No drinks. Not for Derek. Not tonight. No lapses in judgement, no suspect decisions. Watching out for Stiles is his responsibility, and he’s going to take it seriously. “I’m fine right here,” he says, letting her go when she pulls away.

Erica drags Boyd onto the floor, joins Isaac and Laura with Stiles. And Derek determinedly holds up the wall and watches them dance.

#

It turns out that Stiles is a handsy drunk.

Laura heads upstairs with Isaac after a while, and Boyd and Erica head back to her place, which leaves Derek alone with Stiles. Who is leaning against the wall next to Derek, fingers lightly drifting over Derek’s shoulder.

“Dance with me,” Stiles says, poking at his bicep.

“I can’t dance.” Derek doesn’t dance. He doesn’t like looking like an idiot, and while he knows he can move, he just doesn’t like to do it in public. Not being able to do it at all makes a good excuse.

“C’mon.” Stiles sets his empty red cup down on a table and turns to Derek, puts his hands on his hips. He tucks himself in close, starts to gyrate his hips. “It’s easy. Just relax, move with me.”

In five more seconds this is going to go from vaguely uncomfortable to incredibly awkward.

Derek grips Stiles’s wrist, gently nudges him away. “No,” he says quietly. “And I think you’ve had enough to drink. Time to get you back to the room so you can have a bottle of water and take two Tylenol before sleeping.”

“It’s not late!” Stiles twists his wrist around, stares at the mole that dots the soft surface of his skin. “I don’t have a watch.”

“It’s late enough, and you’re drunk. Come on.” Derek has to wrap an arm around Stiles’s waist to move him toward the door. They thread through the crowd and push out into the crisp winter air. It’s late November, and the cold air is a fresh rush that leaves Derek wide awake and blinking.

It doesn’t seem to do anything for Stiles, who clings to Derek’s side and stumbles slightly as they move along the path toward Derek’s dorm.

“I already applied,” Stiles says, and Derek blinks because he wasn’t expecting conversation. “Early decision. It’s not binding, but I wanted them to know I’m serious. Because I’m really serious. They have a great criminology program here, and I want to follow my dad. But I want college first, before the academy. I can do that. Maybe psychology too, I haven’t decided. But I just need them to know I’m serious.”

“Why?” Derek’s curious why Stiles seems so intense. Drunks get like that sometimes, incredibly intense about certain subjects, but it’s usually about the color of the flowers alongside the walkway, or the truth of what being alive means. Not college.

“Because I need them to give me money,” Stiles whispers, like he’s confiding a secret. “Because I need a scholarship, and if I don’t get it, I’m not going to college at all. Not even BHU.”

“If you’re here on a scholarship, maybe you shouldn’t drink,” Derek says dryly. “Drinking yourself into oblivion and maintaining a 4.0 don’t generally go together.”

Stiles makes a disbelieving noise. “I’m better than that,” he says. “I can drink like a fucking fish and still get the best grades.” He pauses, digs his heels in so that Derek has to stop walking, too. “Do fish actually drink? Or do we just say that because they’re under water all the time?”

“You’re drunk,” Derek points out, because _that_ is the kind of thing drunk people get intense about.

“Yes, I am,” Stiles agrees. “I need water.”

Derek can’t argue with that. He manages to get Stiles into the dorm and up to the room, hands him a water bottle from the small fridge, and points at Boyd’s bed. “Sleep on your side. I don’t want you to throw up in your sleep and choke.”

Stiles sits down heavily on the edge of the bed, toes off one shoe, then stops. He twists the bottle open, raises it to his lips and tilts his head back as he guzzles the entire bottle down. “I’ll refill this in the bathroom.” When Derek gives him a dubious look, Stiles waves the empty bottle. “I’m not that drunk, dude.”

“You just stumbled up the stairs.”

Stiles snorts softly. “I do that anyway. I’m not exactly graceful.”

Derek just raises and eyebrow because whatever, he’s not going to lock Stiles in the room. “Go left out of the room, and the bathroom is four doors down on the left. Easy to find since it’s the only non-locking door on the hall. When you get back, just throw the lock on the door.”

It’ll be easier if Derek doesn’t wait up for him. As it is, he turns away while Stiles is struggling to get his shirt over his head, trapped with it around his shoulders, baring a surprisingly toned midriff to Derek’s view. With his back turned, Derek quickly strips down to his boxer briefs, then pulls on the old t-shirt he usually wears at night. It’s practically threadbare, but he’s had it since his father gave it to him when he was twelve. It used to be as big as a dress when he wore it. Now that he’s grown, it only fits because it’s pulled out of shape.

When he turns back, Stiles is still sitting on the edge the bed, shirtless and wearing jeans, one shoe still on. Stiles blinks at Derek. “Dude.”

He can feel the tips of his ears go pink. “What?”

“You are fucking ripped.”

“Thanks.” Derek tries to keep his tone even. He’s never liked being noticed for his looks, not since… not since Kate, a year ago. He’s learned not to trust the people who are just into his physique, and sometimes it’s tempting to eat a dozen more cookies as if it would change something.

Stiles leans down, yanks off his other shoe, then shimmies out of his jeans, tugging his boxers back into place just in time before they slide down his hips. His skin is pale and smooth, dotted everywhere with moles. When he turns his back, Derek spots two pairs of moles on his shoulder blades, as if they marked the spot for wings to burst forth.

He will not touch them. _He won’t_.

Stiles leans over to dig through his bag, and Derek sits on the edge of his own bed, tugs the sheet up over his lap. Stiles turns back, a toothbrush in his mouth, words garbled as he says, “M’just going to go brush m’teeth and get water and pee. Won’t be long.” He waves the empty water bottle in one hand and the toothpaste in the other, and Derek says absolutely nothing as he exits the room, the door slamming closed behind him.

He shouldn’t be thinking these things about the prospective student staying in his room. He really shouldn’t. Maybe it’s because it’s late, or he’s tired. He can’t blame it on the alcohol because he never did have a drink. Derek has no idea what to blame it on other than the fact that Stiles is adorably curious about life, not to mention unfairly attractive and right this moment, Derek kind of wants to lick every mole on his body.

Which is absolutely, and completely, inappropriate to be thinking.

He turns off the light and lies down, pulling the blanket up over himself and burrowing underneath it. He has his phone in his hand and he texts one word to Laura: _unfair_.

He can imagine the way she laughs, and he doesn’t bother looking for her reply. The phone drops to the floor under the bed, and he pulls the blankets over his head, shutting out the noise. He’s asleep before Stiles gets back.

#

It’s warm when Derek wakes up, the windows darkened by a combination of window shades, spare towels, and a sheet. The room is a safe haven on the weekends, pitch black even after the sun rises, and Derek likes to wake up lazily. With Boyd gone, he can stretch out, wake in whatever way he wants, and he rolls onto his back, one hand sliding down his body slowly.

His other elbow hits something, and there’s a mutter of protest.

What?

Derek jerks back, rolls over to face the other side of his bed, and ends up nose to nose with Stiles. “What?” Derek says.

Stiles blinks sleepily at him, then reaches up to ruffle his hair. “Sorry, must’ve stumbled into the wrong bed in the dark. I was asleep by the time my head hit the pillow. I didn’t even realize I was sharing it.” He cranes his head, frowns into the dark room. “What time is it anyway?”

Derek fishes down the side of the bed to find his phone. Laura’s text of _he’s totally your type_ is flashing on the screen, and he quickly clears it before saying, “Just past eight. Still early. We can go back to sleep.”

“Mm.” Stiles’s eyes drift close, his hand sliding over Derek’s head to his shoulder and staying there.

Derek is absolutely aware of the warmth of fingertips curled against his pulse point. He tries to close his eyes and let sleep come to him again, but blood has fled south, and all he can think about is closing the distance between them and giving in to instinct. And while evidence points toward Stiles potentially welcoming that, Derek can’t do it. Not without knowing Stiles is sober. And interested.

“I can hear you thinking,” Stiles mumbles into the bed. “Your head is loud.”

“You sound like you’re still drunk.” Derek holds himself carefully still, tries not to think about how his other hand is lying against his own hip as if he’s about to take his dick in hand. Because if Stiles weren’t here, that’s exactly what he’d be doing, and he can’t unthink that thought yet.

“Dead sober. I didn’t drink as much as you thought. I’m just naturally weird.” Stiles sighs, and pushes himself up onto one elbow. His chest is red from the impression of the sheets, and there’s a flush staining his cheek. “Do you want me to go over to Boyd’s bed? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I figured I was making you uncomfortable.” The words come slowly. Derek doesn’t really need to call attention to his situation; it’s obvious from the tent under the blankets as they both glance down. Derek can feel the way the tips of his ears burn, and he rolls toward the wall. There isn’t much space, but he can manage to get onto his side, his trapped erection hidden from his bedmate.

“If I offered to give you a hand, that would be way too much like bad porn, right?” Stiles says carefully. “Because dude, like I said, you are hot like burning. But you are also a good dude, and I’d like to know what you’re like when I’m not drinking. Maybe next time do something you like to do and get to know you.”

Derek cranes his head to look back over his shoulder. “Are you asking me out?”

“Would you say yes?” Stiles counters. “Because if so, then yes, I’m asking you out and I want to know your opinion on superhero movies.”

“I might have a few on DVD.” Like a stack. A very large stack.

“That counts as staying in,” Stiles says. “Not going out.”

“Boyd’s not here.” It’s as reasonable an answer as Derek can manage, and it’s still too early to be playing these word games. He rolls onto his back again, looks up at Stiles. “So if we want to watch a movie later—after I take you to Lambert for brunch, and we do a tour of the campus—we can do that. When do you have to leave for home?”

Stiles grins, his hand falling against Derek’s chest, warm through the thin fabric of his shirt. “Officially? I told my dad I’d be home this afternoon sometime. Unofficially? I live in Beacon Hills and if I tell him I’m staying another night, it’d be fine. So you can keep me as long as you like.”

“We’ll save discussions of how long I’m keeping you until later.” Derek slides his hand up Stiles’s back, tugs him down until Stiles is sprawled half on top of him, head against his shoulder. “Sleep now, talk later. Save some of it for if you stop being a prospective and actually come here.”

“Early Decision notices come out in a week,” Stiles points out.

“Mm.” There’s a brief thought that this is moving too fast, but it also feels good. Feels strangely right somehow, and besides, Stiles still has to get through the rest of his senior year of high school. They’ve got time to explore.

“Can I kiss you?”

Derek opens his eyes, nods as Stiles leans in close, barely brushes his lips against Derek’s. There’s a soft sound, and Stiles sinks back to where he is pillowed on Derek’s chest.

“And the deal is sealed with a kiss,” Stiles murmurs.

“Does that mean I’m stuck with you?” Derek asks, and he feels Stiles’s chuckle.

“Maybe, yes. Would that be so bad?”

It takes a little maneuvering, but Derek manages to kiss him again, lingering for longer, teasing him just a bit with his tongue. He can feel the smile on Stiles’s lips as they part. “Probably not,” he says, because he gets the feeling that it’s true.

Laura might have stuck him with Stiles, but Derek doesn’t mind. Maybe he’ll keep him.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


End file.
